Survival is Not Mandatory
by vaughn28
Summary: Starbuck over the edge and dealing with his character flaws.
1. Chapter 1

Survival is Not Mandatory

The alarm went off near his head, the insistent

digital beep jolting him from what precious moments of

relaxation he'd been able to find. He rubbed his

eyes, trying to get them to open all the way. It

didn't seem to work. Still rubbing, he rolled out of

the bunk, reached for his locker and grabbed a towel.

He shuffled off to the turbowash, swaying slightly on

unsteady feet. Even the cold water didn't seem to

chase away the haze. Lords he hated mornings like

this. He knew that eventually he had to get some

rest, but some nights he was so keyed up it took the

sleep aid to finally unkink his muscles, to make the

twitching stop so he could finally fall into sleep.

He hated this feeling the sleep aids gave him the next

morning, but he knew, eventually he had to fall

asleep.

That was the problem, the falling. Falling to sleep.

Giving in to sleep. Maybe that really was the

problem. Giving in to moments that felt like

unconsciousness, moments when he wasn't in control.

Well, there were other problems too, like for instance

the word night. There was really no such thing for

him, not since he entered the Colonial service. It's

not like the lights ever went out on the Galactica.

Even in the middle of a sleep cycle, she was lit up

exactly the same as if it were the middle of a day

cycle. Once you boarded the shuttle bound for space,

there was no such thing as night and day. Night and

day were words that belonged planet side. In the

Colonial service, you slept when you were told to

sleep; you were awake when you needed to be, no matter

how tired you were. Cylons didn't care that it was

the middle of a sleep period. All they cared was how

to blast you from the sky. One slow response, one

hesitant reaction, and it was permanent sleep cycle

for you.

Of course if he truly thought about it, night had

never been a time for him to relax and sleep. In the

orphanages, night was when the adults weren't

watching. Night was when you had to watch out for

yourself. All his life Starbuck had slept with one

eye open, his body half alert ready for anything.

But eventually, it catches up to you. Eventually he

had to sleep or his concentration started to slip, and

his body would feel like exposed wires, stripped,

sparking and misfiring. Next to impossible to sleep

by the time he got to that point. He had lost count

of the many sleep periods he'd spent willing his eyes

to stay shut, willing his body to relax, his mind to

just drift. Instead, his muscles twitched, his eyes

snapped open at the slightest sound, and his mind ran

in circles like a jogger on a track.

He'd tried just about everything before giving in to

the sleep aids. He'd tried exercise, running for

miles to wear himself down, but that was too risky.

That kind of exhaustion could kill you, and did

nothing for his brain that just wouldn't shut down.

He'd tried drinking, but since the destruction, the

officer's club didn't dispense that much to drink, and

that also was too risky. When the klaxon went off, he

needed to be ready.

Cassie had helped for a while, the blissful relaxation

that would come after a night of romance. But it

didn't last for long. Eventually she would awaken him

to make it back to barracks before curfew, and by

then, he'd be too keyed up again to sleep.

Days would go by before he would realize that he

hadn't really slept. Usually it took Boomer or Apollo

making some comment on how tired he looked, or how

jumpy he was before he'd start the mental calculations

of how many days it had been, how many hours of

activity he'd gone without a break.

It was a price he had to pay for the extra edge he

gave himself. It was worth it, he knew. It even made

up for mornings like this. It could cure mornings

like this.

He'd lost track of how long he'd stood under the cold

water. His chattering teeth finally brought him out

of the fog. He adjusted the faucet over to warm and

started to clean up. Lords he was tired, but today he

vowed he would do without it. He could do it. Not

much going on today. Cylons hadn't been seen in

sectars. He knew he should go without it for a while,

let his body have a rest. He wasn't completely

stupid. Besides, Boomer was starting to notice, and

if he didn't say something, Boomer would make sure

Apollo did. Yeah, it was time to give it a rest.

It's not like he couldn't do it. He'd gone months

without it before. He could quit anytime he wanted.

Not much was going on. He didn't need it right now.

He could do without today. A couple cups of java

would chase away the fog. He got out of the turbo and

as he got dressed he toyed with the idea of going on

sick call for the day. He could sure use the rest.

The feel of the comb on his hair had set his whole

spine tingling. But he pushed the thought aside and

finished dressing. He could do it today, once he got

some java, he'd be okay.

By noon he knew he wouldn't make it. The six cups of

java had just made him edgy, tired and edgy. The one

time he'd taken a look at himself in the mirror in the

turbo, his eyes had looked steel gray, like the walls

that were closing in. If he could just make it to

dinner, he could make some excuse and nab a few hours

in his bunk. Sleep should solve everything.

By dinner he couldn't get the energy to even chew the

mystery mush. Thank the lords it was mush or he

wasn't sure he could get it to go down. Over dinner

several of his squadron mates began talking about

getting together a card game or some other diversion

which no doubt would somehow include Starbuck. He

spent most of dinner sitting as far from them all as

possible, trying to think up excuses to just get away

and crawl into his bunk. He was getting prepared for

when they approached him with the "Hey Starbuck, are

you up for it?" He wanted to just growl at them,

maybe even a good snarl, but he lacked the energy to

do anything more than huddle over his food and avoid

conversation.

Turned out he didn't need to make any excuses. Boomer

had already made them for him. "Starbuck just needs

some sleep. Besides, he's broke anyway, aren't you

Bucko?" Boomer had told the guys in the billet.

After dinner Boomer put his arm around Starbuck and

said in a low voice for no one else but Starbuck, "I

told you to lay off the stuff. You don't need it all

the time. Get some sleep."

Starbuck had wanted to be angry. It was none of

Boomer's business how he got through the day. Hades,

they were all lucky he hadn't pulled his blaster and

blown away their slap happy silly grins.

But instead he just ran his hands through his hair,

took slow breaths and said, "Yeah. Sleep."

That was a laugh. He was so tired he couldn't even

muster the will to relax enough to sleep.

He hit his bunk as soon as he could get away. As it

turns out, he could sleep. He slept hard. He woke up

in the same position as when he'd flopped down. He'd

slept through his alarm and was jostled by Boomer, who

was none to happy.

"Starbuck, you already missed the first briefing. Get

up. We've got a recon soon." Boomer gave Starbuck's

still booted foot a kick.

Starbuck rushed through a quick turbo and debated

wearing the same uniform. He didn't really have time

to get a new one, but he did. He'd be late. By his

calculations he'd slept over 15 centaurs. He felt

like he could sleep fifteen more.

As he put away his items in his locker and dragged the

comb through his hair, he took a hard look at himself.

He had to admit, he looked more rested. His eyes

were soft blue again, and he didn't look so pale. The

sleep had helped, and he'd gotten more than enough.

He had a long day ahead of him with a recon patrol on

the schedule. He was already late for the briefing,

so what was a couple more centons going to hurt. He

reached into the back of his locker and found the

hypo, pushed up his sleeve and quickly injected

himself in the dark of the locker. It wasn't a large

dose, just enough to chase away the fog.

The warmth spread quickly through him. He felt each

nerve ending come awake. It was like the sun rising,

spreading its happy rays throughout him. He felt the

springs in his legs reactivate. His heart raced a

little, like a happy little daggit.

"Mmm, that's it." He said to his image in the mirror

and smiled. "Ahh, there you are handsome!" He

admired his own jaunty smile.

He was late to the prelaunch briefing. Tigh gave him

a displeased glance, but that was all, just a glance.

Starbuck flashed him his trademark grin, and found his

seat. He kicked back and tapped his stylus on his

data pad in time to the song running through his head.

It was a typical briefing. The fleet had found

something on the scanners, planets ahead with possibly

usable resources. Long range recon to scan ahead,

check things out, scan the planets to decide if they'd

be organizing a landing party. Starbuck could already

feel the soil beneath his boots. Be nice to take a

walk in unfiltered air, he thought, even if it did

mean pulling a long patrol, getting back to the

Galactica in time for breakfast if they were lucky.

He didn't realize he'd been asked a question until he

noticed that the room had gone quiet. He looked up

from his drum solo on the datapad to find everyone

staring at him. Apollo looked puzzled. Boomer looked

downright annoyed.

"Sounds like fun." Starbuck answered flippantly.

"The question was Lieutenant," Tigh asked again, his

voice slow and deliberate, "who is up next on the duty

roster rotation to cover patrols? You were involved

in creating the duty roster this sectar, correct?"

Oh frak, Starbuck thought to himself. He'd put it

together, but he'd just copied what had been done a

few sectars before, and he couldn't recall what the

rotation was. He couldn't even recall what day of the

sectar it was.

"The usual people. I'll see that they know it's been

shifted again."

"See that you do before you launch." Tigh ordered,

then he looked to Apollo who nodded in response to let

the Colonel know he'd double check on it.

Starbuck felt his annoyance level rise. He wasn't

some little kid that needed to be checked up on. He

knew his duty. He began muttering oaths under his

breath as the tapping of his stylus increased.

The rest of the briefing droned on. Same old stuff,

same old discussion. Starbuck suddenly found himself

on his feet. "Are we done here? I've got work to

do."

Tigh took an exasperated breath. "I suppose you are

Lieutenant. Lt. Boomer, Lt. Starbuck, you'll be

launching in exactly two centaurs. I'll expect a full

briefing the moment you land."

"Yes sir." Starbuck said.

He didn't realize it had come out sarcastic until

Boomer said something to him in the corridor.

"If you don't watch it, the Colonel's going to take

away your furloughs."

"Why? What did I do?" Starbuck asked.

"You just don't get it do you Starbuck?" Boomer said

and shook his head.

"Yeah, I get it. I'm in a good mood and nobody

appreciates a good mood." Starbuck veered away from

Boomer taking a side corridor.

"Where are you going? The flight deck is this way."

Boomer said pointing down the corridor.

"I have to check the duty roster and get the rotation

changed." Starbuck said not bothering to turn around.

But Boomer noticed Starbuck was headed back to the

barracks, not to the squadron office. Boomer stopped

for a moment and closed his eyes in resignation. He

knew where Starbuck was headed and why. A long recon

always meant that Starbuck brought along a little

something extra for the ride. The advantage to flying

long recons with Starbuck is that Starbuck didn't take

sleep periods, giving the other pilot a chance to get

some sleep. Starbuck always made sure he had

something to keep himself awake.

Boomer debated in those few moments in the corridor if

he should have a talk with Starbuck. He'd had the

talk with Starbuck before, more than a couple of

times. Boomer could tell when it was starting to get

bad. Usually the first sign was Starbuck getting edgy

and snapping at everyone.

But Boomer remembered how Starbuck had gone to his

bunk early the night before and managed to get extra

sleep. He's probably fine, Boomer reasoned to

himself. It shouldn't be too long a recon. He'll be

fine.

Boomer knew Starbuck wasn't the only one that had

given in to the pep pills. It seemed to Boomer that

everyone had tried some form of stimulant during the

days right after the destruction. It was almost a

necessity as they were running round the clock patrols

with as many pilots circling the fleet as possible.

The cylons constantly showing up when least expected

didn't help things either. Boomer had to admit that

he had even given in to the stimulants for a short

time, but only when he'd gone longer than forty-eight

centars without sleep. Once things slowed down, he'd

stopped entirely. Plus, in a way it was a waste on

him. The first dose would wake him up a little, but

even over just a few hours it would alter his

concentration and it took more and more doses to keep

him awake. Boomer found he got better results with

eight centars of sleep followed by a meal with a big

helping of protein.

Boomer had noticed over the yahrens that Starbuck went

in jags. He'd use heavy for a while, how long

depended on how cylon infested the quadrant was, then

crash hard. His crashes only seemed to last a few

cycles, and then Starbuck would seem to leave the

stimulants completely behind. Well, at least until

things got hectic again. Boomer had to admit if it

weren't for the fact that he was so close to Starbuck,

he probably wouldn't have noticed Starbuck's using.

Starbuck was a pretty fidgety guy, on or off the

energy additions.

For Boomer, it was the fact that he shared the bunk

beside Starbuck that gave Starbuck away. Boomer knew

how many cycles Starbuck could go without sleep.

Starbuck broke his own record right after the

destruction. By the time Boomer started counting it

was sixteen. Adding the days he suspected onto that,

it was probably closer to twenty one. There were

other signs of course, paranoia, depression, violent

outbursts. "But hades, who didn't have those signs

then?" Boomer mused to himself. Just when Boomer was

going to forcibly drag his friend to the Life Station,

Boomer himself had wound up in a life pod in Life

Station. By the time he got out, Starbuck was

sleeping again.

Besides, he didn't want to get his buddy in trouble.

He just wanted Starbuck to be okay. Boomer knew that

Starbuck would never let it interfere with his duty or

the safety of the fleet. Starbuck cared too much

about flying to let it affect that part of his life.

The question remained though, how much did Starbuck

care about himself?

Starbuck was fine Boomer decided, and continued on to

the flight deck to get started on the preflight check.

Starbuck entered the barracks and found them to be as

deserted as they should be in the middle of a cycle.

A couple of pilots were getting some sleep after

having come off a patrol, but otherwise the place was

empty. Starbuck headed to his locker, opened it and

began rummaging in the back where he kept his stash.

He pulled out only four doses, and yellow square of

paper. "I O U Thanks. Giles" scrawled in an unsteady

hand.

"FRAK!" Starbuck swore aloud and slammed his locker.

It banged back at him, and he slammed it again, and

again, and again with a force so violent that the

latch flung at him and careened off his chest. "That

fraking snot rag!" The door to his locker hung at an

odd angle with no way to remain shut.

Starbuck stalked down to Giles locker, opened it, and

began to rummage through Giles things. He found

nothing he cared about. He slammed Giles locker hard

with a bang. It obediently shut. The fact that Giles

locker was functioning properly sent Starbuck into a

rage. He balled up his fist and launched it at the

metal surface. Once he made impact, Starbuck jerked

his hand away, cradling his knuckles and bouncing on

his feet.

"Frak that hurts!" It took a few moments before he

could look down at his knuckles to assess the damage.

He flexed his hand and tears came to his eyes from the

throbbing. "Oh that was smart bucko!" He chastised

himself. He glared at the locker noticing the near

perfect imprint of his knuckles, now embossed on the

metal front. "Serves him right. You don't mess with

a man's stuff."

Starbuck stalked from the barracks. "Maybe Bacchus

can spot me a few. He should be on shift today," he

mumbled to himself. Again Starbuck was left to wonder

exactly what day it was. His next thought was

wondering if it really mattered, different day, same

felgercarb.

Starbuck headed for the flight deck. He was on a

mission and he didn't have much time before his real

mission. He jumped off the lift before it came all

the way to a stop. He scanned the deck quickly and

thought he saw who he was looking for across the bay.

Boomer noticed Starbuck's arrival. "About frakking

time," he thought to himself. He'd been worried that

he was going to have to go hunt Starbuck down to make

launch on time.

"Hey Starbuck, you owe me. I ran the preflight for

you." Boomer called to him, but Starbuck kept on

walking. "Where are you going?"

Starbuck didn't slow as he raised his hand in

response. "Thanks. Gotta take care of something."

Boomer watched Starbuck nearly spring across the bay

to approach one of the flight deck crew. Boomer would

have just looked away and gone on back to getting

ready for launch, but what happened next caught his

interest. Boomer watched, hands on his hips, as the

scene unfolded. Starbuck appeared to ask the deck

crewman a question. The crewman had barely

acknowledged Starbuck, and apparently Starbuck had

been miffed by the response. Starbuck spun the

crewman around and grabbed the front of the crewman's

jumpsuit in his fist. Boomer took a couple of steps

towards the altercation thinking he would need to

intervene, but then the most amazing thing happened.

Starbuck had quickly let go, began smoothing over the

crewman's uniform and appeared to be begging.

Starbuck even put his hands together as if in prayer.

Boomer slowed and stopped, completely mystified.

Starbuck cajoled, teased, pestered almost everyone,

but beg? That was one Boomer had not seen before.

The crewman seemed to be enjoying the moment as he

smiled at Starbuck, said something, and Starbuck

nodded his head repeatedly in relief and clapped the

crewman on the back like they were the best of

buddies. Starbuck even put his arm around the guy and

nearly hugged him, before disengaging himself and

heading towards Boomer and their vipers.

"What was that all about?" Boomer asked trying not to

sound as intrigued as he was.

"Uh, what?" Starbuck kept on walking.

"That, with the flight deck worker. You looked like

you were going to pulverize him. I was worried I'd

have to take this patrol with someone else, and bail

you out of the brig when I got back."

"Oh, that. Just checking on some repairs to my

viper." Starbuck scanned his viper, quickly double

checking everything for launch.

"Uh huh, what repairs?" Boomer wasn't going to let

him off the hook. Something about the whole little

scene worried him.

"Nothing major. Come on, we have a mission."

Starbuck turned to Boomer and grinned.

Boomer took a good hard look at Starbuck. Everything

seemed in place, the clear eyes, easy smile, less

fidgeting. Starbuck was fine.

"Okay, okay. Whatever you say Bucko." He headed for

his viper

Starbuck had settled into his viper before he started

to get really anxious. Bacchus had refused to front

him a few doses at first, but Starbuck had asked him

nicely and he had relented. He'd said he'd get it for

Starbuck before launch and had disappeared ever since.

Starbuck was hoping he was just tracking down some

Snap for him, not avoiding him. "That would be like

him though wouldn't it? To avoid giving me a little

credit. He'd just skip out on the deal wouldn't he?"

Starbuck reached in his pocket and felt the four doses

he had on him.

They were low doses. Starbuck preferred to break his

stuff up into smaller amounts for several reasons.

Sometimes he just didn't need a full dose, and a half

would cut it, and if he needed more, he could always

take more. Another reason is that if he ever did

suffer from a surprise inspection, well, he didn't

have anything on him that didn't look like a

prescribed amount. Sometimes too, he could sell those

smaller doses for the same price of a full dose,

making a bit of a profit to pay for his own dose.

Starbuck started to search the small confines of his

viper. He thought maybe he'd stashed a few doses in

his viper as it was where he tended to need it the

most. But his search turned up nothing, not that he

thought it would. He was smarter than that. Although

Starbuck had the luxury of a viper that the flight

deck crew and the command considered to be his, it was

used by others on more than one occasion. If his

viper was the closest one ready, then his was the one

that went out, whether he was in the cockpit or not.

It was rare, but lately maintenance had taken

advantage in the lull in Cylon contact to take vipers

off the flight line for full overhauls. They seemed

to be doing it randomly, so Starbuck didn't know when

his would be next, or if somebody else's had been

pulled and they might decide to loan his out to

someone else. It was too risky to store anything in

his viper. But just maybe.

He was about to begin another search when Bacchus

suddenly appeared, a flight helmet in his hand. "Here

you go Starbuck. This one's all cleaned up, extra

padding if you know what I mean. You owe me, don't

forget."

"You are a hero, you know that Bacchus? What would I

do without you! Yeah, I owe you, I owe you."

Starbuck took the helmet from him, reached into the

neck padding and pulled out four more doses. "Is that

all?" He started to say, but Bacchus had already

activated the canopy closure. Well, it would have to

do. Starbuck rolled the small vials in his hand. "At

least they're full doses." He reached in his pocket,

pulled out a hypo and loaded on up.

"Core Command to Recon One, you are cleared for

launch."

"Yo, Starbuck, you ready over there?" Boomer called

over the comm..

"Yeah, just a centon. You go first buddy." Starbuck

pushed his sleeve up a little, placing the hypo over

his wrist. It was risky there, might leave a mark,

but it was all he could get to at the moment without

being noticed. He wasn't willing to wait until he

had launched, this moment was too good.

He felt the warmth rush through him and his vision

tunneled down to a pinprick. He automatically

initiated launch. His vision expanded in an explosion

of rainbow colors just as he cleared the launch tube.

"YAHOO! " Starbuck hollered as he shot away from the

Galactica


	2. Chapter 2

For Starbuck this was about as good as it gets. Okay, maybe a fumarello, a Proteus ambrosia and one of those blonde clones from that iceball planet would improve things. Just maybe. But it would take all that at the same time to beat just how good he was feeling zipping through the stars. God he loved to fly. He was good at it, and that just helped to add to his feeling of euphoria. In his viper, he was king of his domain.

With the snap running through his veins, everything became more vibrant, more alive than it already was. The space around him wasn't black and empty as some would believe, or how the vids portrayed it. It had a substance and a texture. It had varying shades of color, sometimes velvety black, sometimes a deep swirling purple. In this sector it was a shimmering midnight blue, with iridescent indigo. The stars weren't just white pinpricks, but pulsing yellows, oranges and red. His heartbeat synchronized and began pounding along with the pulsations from the star they were headed towards. The planets were coming into view. They were solid steady beams of the light, beacons luring him in. He couldn't wait to put his feet down on soil, smell the air. He couldn't wait to enjoy the sensation of being planet side with a little snap helping to enhance his senses, enhance his perception.

"How can this be bad?" he thought to himself. "When will the officers realize that this really does improve my observation skills?" He reached in his pocket and ran his fingers over the ampules there. He'd wait, take another half dose just before they landed. That would be just enough to make the colors standout. "Lords it will be nice to see something other than gray. I need more yellow, more red, more green in my life." Starbuck mused to himself, and settled in to cover the long stretch between him and the planet.

Starbuck hadn't realized that he'd been humming some tune he'd heard lately on the Rising Star until Boomer cut in on the com.

"Your suddenly in a better mood. What's up Starbuck?"

"So now it's a crime to be happy?" Starbuck shot back irritably.

Boomer took a moment before he replied, "No, it's not. I was just wondering what was up at the briefing, that's all. You seemed, I don't know, like you were fed up with something. And now you're humming show tunes. Just wondering what's up, that's all." Boomer braced himself for Starbuck's answer.

"Yeah well," Starbuck took in a deep breath. "I'm just tired of the same old felgercarb, you know. Every briefing is the same. Found some planet, need resources. It's just the same every time. I don't know why we bother." Starbuck resisted the urge to punch in the turbos and execute a few rolls.

"Starbuck, are you serious? What do you want, a Cylon attack?" Boomer asked incredulously.

"At least it would be something different, some excitement." Starbuck instantly regretted saying it, especially because it was to Boomer, steady and serious Boomer.

Before Boomer could say anything, Strabuck went on. "Don't have a fit, okay? I'm not saying I want a Cylon attack. No one wants that. It's just…" Starbuck trailed off not even sure how to begin to explain what he'd been feeling lately.

"Just what Bucko?" Boomer asked softly.

"I don't know! Can't I just be happy to be out here in the stars?" Starbuck reached to shut down the comlink.

Boomer saw his opportunity, knew it was time to get Starbuck to talk. "You don't think it might be all the chemical help you're taking?"

Starbuck's hand froze on the switch to the com. He wanted to shut off the link, wanted to hit his turbos and just keep going to lords knew where. He just wanted to enjoy the warm glow he'd been feeling on take off, but it was ebbing away like a puddle in the desert after a thunderstorm. He kept trying to grasp it back, but all he could grab were gritty nerve endings.

"How long has it been since you slept a full sleep period? One minute you're giddy, the next you're snapping people's heads off. You're moodier than a Nomen school girl." Boomer was answered by silence. But at least there was the hiss of the open comlink. At least Starbuck was listening.

"Look Bucko, we're all feeling it. Humans weren't meant to be crammed into metal compartments and spend yahrens traveling to some destination that no one knows where it is or how long it will take. We're all feeling it. I'm not blaming you buddy."

Starbuck pulled his hand back from the switch, and instead reached in his pocket, took out an ampule and rolled up his sleeve.

Starbuck listened to Boomer's attempt to sympathize with him. He knew that Boomer knew more than he should and was trying to talk some sense into Starbuck. Starbuck knew that Boomer was probably right. Starbuck didn't have things any harder than anyone else. In some ways he had it easier. He hadn't really lost anyone in the destruction unless you counted an old girl friend or two, and some of those showed back up, like Aurora. Yup, there had been an advantage to having no one. There was no one to lose, no one to mourn. Starbuck had seen Boomer on his bad days, the haunted look in Boomer's eyes when some random memory of hearth and home was triggered. Yup, Starbuck had it easy, which is why he picked up so many extra duties, so he could try to take the burden off of others. And even with all the extra work, Starbuck knew Boomer was right. Starbuck knew that he wasn't the only one that was overworked and stressed out. He very well knew he wasn't the only one using. How could he not know? How could anyone not know? There was no privacy in the fleet, certainly not for a Colonial Warrior. In the Commander's day, pilots had their own quarters. They had privilege and respect. Now he had to live crammed 60 to a bunkroom. There was not a moment he could call his own. Not a moment he was ever alone.

Except when he was flying. In his viper he could finally be alone, with no one watching, no one in his business, no one to tell him he was being selfish or stupid to feel the way he did. He could have the privacy to think his own thoughts, have his own feelings. And in the privacy of his own viper, he rolled up his sleeve, working it up so that he had access to a larger vein. Starbuck had heard it before from Boomer, knew that he was probably right, well, at least a little right, humans were not meant to be crammed into metal compartments. It's no wonder everyone hadn't gone crazy, and it was no wonder he wasn't the only one who was using.

"We're all tempted to give in to a little something now and then." Boomer continued on, taking Starbuck's silence as acceptance for Boomer's concern. "Some drink, some get wrapped up in cheap sci fi novels. Normally for you, it's cards. Yeah, you may take a little something extra every now and then, but lately Starbuck, I don't think it's every now and then. Lately I think it's a little more."

"Oh you think? What does it matter to you? You know, it's really none of your business. I'm a big boy Boomer."

"I know that buddy. I'm just saying, we're all a little tense Bucko. The duty roster has been a killer. I mean it always was before when we had a full complement and fairly peaceful times, but now," Boomer took a deep breath to sigh before charging forward since Starbuck seemed to be listening. "You're not the only one who's a little burnt out. We all need a break. You should…"

Starbuck cut him off. "I should do what Boomer? What do you suggest I do?" Starbuck spat it out angrily, and he hesitated, the injector hovering over his vein. He pumped his hand once, twice, watching the vein build larger, the trapped blood pushing it out so it was more accessible.

"Look Starbuck, I'm just saying it's starting to affect you a little, that's all. I mean, who wouldn't feel the pressure? You have a lot going on with command really starting to notice your abilities and giving you more responsibilities. Then there are the triad tournaments, and the card tournaments. On top of that you seem to volunteer for every extra duty, from long range recons to Orphan ship field trips. You're doing too much. You need a break. You should…" Boomer hesitated. He knew the options were limited, and the only one really left to them was one no one took. It had a taint to it, a reputation. No matter how confidential everyone said it was, once a pilot used it, it seemed to stick to them and their record like a black spot.

"So what should I do Boomer? You seem to have all the answers. You seem to know everything. What should I do, go on furlough? They don't give those out anymore, remember? I should go on sick call? Is that it? I'm not sick. And in case you hadn't noticed, the Life Center is usually overloaded with real cases. So what, the great triad champion, silver star cluster award winner should go on…on…" Starbuck couldn't even bring himself to say it, it was such a vile thought.

"Psychiatric leave." Boomer finished for him. "Yes, the great illustrious Starbuck might need a little psych leave." Boomer was met with an angry silence. Then over the comlink he heard Starbuck's snarl.

"Too hades with that!"

Starbuck violently shoved the needle into his arm and shot the whole dose in one push. "Frak, that's going to leave a mark." He muttered to himself.

******************

It was only a fraction of a micron before Starbuck realized his mistake. Instead of the happy baby daggit patter of his heart, he felt it lurch and plummet. Then like a rubber bouncy ball, it leaped and seemed to rebound off the insides of his ribs.

His vision shrank down to the pinprick of light, and just when he thought he might black out, it exploded. He literally felt the concussion of the explosion as his head jerked back and slammed against the headrest. He shook his head to clear his vision and saw a rainbow of colors that continued to assault him even after he closed his eyes.

"Frak," he slurred out loud, realizing that he hadn't loaded up one of his usual half doses.  
This was one of the new ones Bacchus had given him. A full dose, and he wondered if it was his usual stuff or if…if this was something new, something different. He cursed his own stupidity, reminding himself belatedly that this wasn't like visiting an apothecary on Caprica. You weren't always guaranteed of the purity, or even of the exact ingredients. Some blends were different from others, some mixed and made a little different.

This was definitely different, and a lot of it.

Suddenly his ears rang with the thundering of his scanner klaxon.

"Frak!" He shouted over the comlink.

"What's wrong Starbuck?" Boomer shouted back, confused and frantic.

"My scanner. I've picked up something, and it's closing in fast." Starbuck answered in a rush, shaking his head to clear his vision and reaching out to bring up his long-range scanner.

"Are you sure? I'm not picking up anything." Boomer answered, running through his own instrumentation.

"Can't you hear that?" Starbuck said, leaving his link open so that Boomer could hear the urgency of his klaxon. "There, over by the fourth planet's moon. It's coming around it and…" Starbuck blinked his eyes in shock as it suddenly disappeared, and his klaxon just as suddenly shut off mid wail."

"Where did it go?" Starbuck asked in awe at the speed of what he had just seen.

"Where did what go? Starbuck, I didn't pick up anything." Boomer said as he double-checked his own scanner.

"You've got to be kidding! It was just there!"

"Just where?"

"The fourth planet, near that moon. It was there. My scanner says it was a cylon raider!" Starbuck knowingly exaggerated. His scanner hadn't had a chance to bring up a warbook identification on it, but he figured that's what it had to be. Nothing else but a viper moved that fast or with that maneuverability.

"Sorry Starbuck I didn't catch anything. Are you sure? I didn't hear your alarm either."

"WHAT?! Did you have the com closed, or are you just deaf?" Starbuck ran through his scanner logs with one hand while he put his other to his chest to try to calm his pounding heart.

"I'm sure. I didn't pick up anything or see anything." Boomer said after checking for a third time.

"Are you saying I'm seeing things AND hearing things?" Starbuck asked insulted that his friend would question what he had definitely seen and most definitely heard.

"I didn't say that Starbuck." Boomer sighed and then slowly and deliberately stated the facts. "I'm saying that my scanner didn't pick up anything and the com didn't pick up your alarm. It doesn't mean that it wasn't there. You know how it goes, sometimes a guy's scanner picks up what others don't depending on his directional scan. I'm just saying I didn't get it, but you did."

Starbuck ran his hand through his hair as he pushed harder on his chest, willing his heart to stay in one place and quit jumping up and down.

"Okay, okay," Starbuck said breathlessly. "Then let's go check it out and see if it's there." He reached for his stick to trigger his boosters.

"I think we should stick with the mission. Scan the planets, see if there's anything useful. If there's something hiding, we'll find it, or it will show itself."

"Yeah, but the mission calls for scanning the outer planets, the one's with atmosphere. But it's in those inner ones, the rocks, that I picked it up at. We should check there first. Frak it Boomer, sometimes you have to take a risk of two!"

Boomer sighed. He felt like he was talking to a child today, or more like Boxey's damn digital daggit. "Starbuck, let's just stick to the mission and then head back. We don't have the time or the fuel to be chasing bogeys."

"I'm telling you Boomer, there is something there!"

Boomer lost his patience. "Look, I've ran the scan four times now. I'm telling you Starbuck, it's either gone now, or your scanner malfunctioned. Now let's just do this and get it done."

"Now who's testy," Starbuck grumbled, running through his logs again. Nothing. Not even an indication that there had been something there. But he just couldn't shake the feeling. As his blood rushed through his ears, he felt whatever was out there. He picked it up like a vibration. "I'm telling you Boomer, I just got this feeling."

Boomer swallowed his irritation. Normally Starbuck's feelings were pretty accurate. "Okay, so we do this careful and slow then, and," Boomer sighed. He had his own feeling. He hadn't heard Starbuck's alarm. He hadn't picked up anything, well, anything but Starbuck's flying suddenly becoming erratic and his buddy's voice going from casual to frantic and fast paced. Boomer had a feeling that Starbuck had brought along a little extra help in his viper.

"And?" Starbuck asked, his voice high with concern.

"And, we'll check out those inner planets too."

Starbuck felt his heart slam into his ribs as his klaxon went off again, a high chirp, then was gone.

"There it is again!"

Boomer looked down at his scanner, and then out his canopy. Clear and quiet, all indications of…nothing.

Boomer wanted to believe his friend, but after checking his instruments for the hundredth time, running umpteen number of scans and diagnostic checks, and even circling that fourth planet twice, despite his protests of wasted fuel, they had found nothing. Nothing conclusive anyway. Starbuck was still convinced that there was something out there, that his feeling was right.

They did find that several of the planets were full of valuable resources, including tylium. The atmosphere of most of the planets, while not ideal for habitation, were suitable for the extraction of said resources. It had been a successful mission. Just one slight problem. Starbuck and his feeling.

They had wasted so much fuel chasing down Starbuck's feeling that they couldn't afford a surface landing. So Boomer got to listen to Starbuck's grumbling his disappointment, and Boomer was reminded again of a whiny little kid.

The whole way back to the fleet Starbuck kept seeing and hearing something on his scanner. More than twice he doubled back to check that their rear was clear. On the third time Starbuck suggested going back, Boomer lost his cool.

"You're floating on fumes as it is! Did it every occur to you that your scanner has malfunctioned?" Low and to himself he mumbled, "Or that you're just getting paranoid."

"What was that Boom boom? I'm not paranoid!" Starbuck said, then punched his turbo to get some distance between him and his so called friend. His viper sputtered before engaging, and his low fuel alarm came on.

"I heard that alarm Starbuck." Boomer said sarcastically. "No, you're not paranoid. Just jumpy, and moody. You're strung too tight and strung out on…." He let the sentence hang between them unfinished for a few microns before he said low and serious, "You know I have to report this don't you?"

It was like ice water suddenly ran in Starbuck's arteries, and his bouncy ball heart fell over the cliff, free falling to his stomach. Boomer knew too much. He even knew who Starbuck's supplier was. He knew way too much. Instinctively Starbuck began to formulate a plan.

In as calm a voice as he could fake, Starbuck tried to sound casual as he said, "Report what Buddy?"

"You know what Starbuck. It's getting out of control again."

Starbuck swallowed hard and put on his pyramid face. "I don't know what you're talking about Boom boom."

Boomer had had it. This was too much. Starbuck's viper was waggling all through the stars, and Boomer had no doubt in his mind that Starbuck was probably jumping around like a new triad ball.

"Don't Boom boom me. You know what I'm talking about. The little extra boost you give yourself."

"Alright, so I give myself a little energy, so do a lot of guys. You going to report them too? Come on, we're friends. You know I can control it. You wouldn't report me would you?"

Boomer debated whether he would report it, report his feeling about Starbuck's "feeling". Should he report that it had probably been a while since Starbuck slept, unless you counted his sleep aide crashes? Boomer wondered what they would find if they shook out Starbuck's pockets or rolled up his sleeves.

Starbuck counted the microns, waiting for Boomer's response. If Boomer reported ALL that he knew, Starbuck's fowl would be cooked. At the very least he'd spend some time in the brig. At the worst, well, he'd been that route before. Didn't work. Never would. All those counselor types wanted to do was have him talk about his childhood, talk about his feelings. How the hades was talking going to fix that he got a bum deal as a kid? That the Cylons screwed up his upbringing? How would recounting the horrors fix what happened? Talking about it didn't make it go away.

He remembered how when he first joined the service they made it mandatory he attend weekly appointments, something about his juvenile record, and it was a requirement or he couldn't go to the academy. So he did like he was told and went. He was shocked when he went in the office that the counselor was a woman, and a young one at that. Not bad looking, and well, at first she didn't care what they talked about. They could talk about anything. Well, just when he was starting to like having a nice person to talk with, someone who seemed to care, it got nasty. She asked about his childhood, and he felt comfortable enough to share. He told her about one of the incidents at one of the homes he was in. It was actually kind of a funny story about how you had to earn your bed, and you had to sleep on the floor until you passed the tests. The director let the older boys come up with the tests. One kid had to be in a box with rats. Another had to climb up the side of the three story orphanage building. Starbuck had had to eat a mixture of bugs and worms, most of them still alive and wiggling, without vomiting. He had swallowed them all down and asked for more.

The story should have elicited a laugh, but instead the counselor had sat there with this horrified look on her face. She actually had tears in her eyes. Then came the worst, when she asked him, "How did you deal with that? That's awful! You should have reported them. You should have said no! Children shouldn't have to earn their food and shelter like that. You could have been hurt! How did you deal with that?"

How did he deal with that? The question didn't make sense to Starbuck. It was just how life was. You just played the cards you were dealt. He had been a kid, kids don't get to control their lives. Didn't she understand that?

Well there was no way after that he was going to share some of the other things that happened to him, things that truly were awful, like the various assaults, both physical and sexual, and not always from other kids, sometimes from the adults. There was no way she could handle all that. He couldn't tell her how he lied about every broken bone or tooth. He'd never really climbed a tree, but according to his medical record he'd fallen out of at least ten of them.

And if he told all of it, even some of it, would she let him in the service? He was still in Induction Training then, and there was no way he was going to be the first to be washed out, nor the last. He was going to make it, like he had always made it. He could take it.

So he told her what she wanted to hear. Made up some stories, horrible enough to justify why he acted up so much as a kid, drank too much now and then, experimented with a drug or two to earn him his Minor In Possession charges. But stories also tame enough that she wouldn't scrub him from the Academy

Starbuck was good, damn good and she'd bought it all. By the end of Induction Training he'd been cleared psychologically. In fact she had written a glowing recommendation on his "morality of character". That's how she put it. She wrote that he was the most honest person she'd met.

After that, he had avoided counselors. Oh, he had a talk or two with the therapy room. But that was different. That wasn't a person, and it wasn't hooked up to the core computer. Plus it was really just Starbuck talking to himself when he went there, just sorting things through, not trying to fix them or make them better. Actually, it was mostly about making it all go away.

Starbuck had lived with that counseling stuff in his record, that he'd HAD to go to counseling. Some of his first commands had actually hit on that, treated him different because he might be a psycho. He'd had to prove to every commander and captain that he wasn't a nut job. Not so easy sometimes as he did tend to take more risks than others, but they weren't risks he couldn't afford. They always worked out.

Starbuck knew it was time for another risk. He knew what Boomer wanted to hear.

"Alright buddy, you're right. You're right. I'll quit. I'll go cold turkey once we get back. I swear it. I'll give everything back and take that break. You're right, I could use one."

It was a few microns more before Boomer responded, and Starbuck wondered if he had even heard Starbuck's words.

"Okay Starbuck. Okay."

Starbuck heaved a sigh of relief.

"But…"

Starbuck felt his breath catch.

"But what buddy. You just say the word, and I'll do it."

"But," Boomer continued, "I still have to report that you thought you saw something out there."

Starbuck felt his anger rise up again. "But I did see something out there!"

"That we never found." Boomer added.

"Doesn't mean it's not out there!"

Boomer heaved a sigh of exasperation. "Okay, okay, I'll grant you that one. So we report it. Got it."

"Got it." Starbuck agreed. At that moment he'd agree to almost anything to shake that feeling of dread.

"And you get all the stuff out of your system and take some leave."

"Righto. Whatever you say boss."

"Okay. Let's head home."

Starbuck didn't give it too much thought as they cruised back to the Galactica. He had been planning on slowing down anyway, on cutting back and getting some sleep just after this mission. Plus he wasn't sure he liked this new mixture Bacchus had given him. It was already ebbing and it made his skin crawl, either that or he had picked up a creepy crawly somewhere and it was now inside his jacket sleeve.

Yup, he'd be cutting back just as soon as he got back to the Galactica.

Boomer on the other hand gave it a lot of thought. It was not the first time that he had realized that since the destruction, Starbuck had become his family. Starbuck and Apollo and a few other guys from his squadron. And if they were his family, well, responsibility came with family. He was going to be responsible for Starbuck, responsible for him keeping his word and cutting back. If Starbuck didn't make that first step towards taking a break, then Boomer decided he would push him into doing it. But what had him thinking was how. How did one push Starbuck? Starbuck could be as slippery as an ocean eel.

As soon as Boomer saw Starbuck in the harsh glare of the landing bay lights, he regretted his decision to not tell someone about Starbuck's problems. Starbuck looked sickly gray, almost green. He was twitching and scratching absently at his wrist. Boomer thought he saw blood on Starbuck's nails. Boomer noticed in decon that Starbuck's eyes were blood shot, and couldn't seem to stay focused on one thing. Starbuck rolled back and forth on the balls of his feet, his boots squeaking to some tempo only Starbuck could hear.

When the decon hatch opened, Starbuck literally bolted out of the confining compartment. As they entered the lift for the bridge Boomer hazarded a query. "You okay?"

Starbuck didn't hear him the first time. His attention seemed to be focused on the flashing lights of the lift, and digging at his wrist with his nails.

"Yo, Starbuck. You okay?"

"Huh?" He turned towards Boomer as if he had been interrupted from something important. "Uh, yeah. Just thinking about what might be out there, you know?"

The lie slid easily from Starbuck's tongue, and Boomer easily let it slide by, and then Boomer wondered, how many of Starbuck's lie's had he let slide on by? A hundred, a thousand? If he really thought about it, it had to be closer to millions.

"Starbuck, what we talked about before coming in," Boomer took a deep breath, "I'm serious."

"Yeah, I know. This is serious. We have to make sure we have really shaken them off our tail." Starbuck replied absently, his attention drawn back to the flashing lights.

"Not that Bucko. The other thing." Boomer waited for a response from Starbuck. He received none.

Just as the lift doors opened, Boomer grabbed Starbuck's arm to prevent him from bolting for the bridge.

"Starbuck, you listening?"

Starbuck spun and faced him, for a moment a look of pure fury on his face. But just as quickly it slid away, and was replaced with Starbuck's ever confidant grin. "Yeah, I heard you. I got the message." Starbuck reached up and patted Boomer on the back. "It's all good buddy. It's all good."

Boomer wanted to believe Starbuck. But he also knew it was just another one of Starbuck's lies. Boomer wanted to confront Starbuck right there and then, but over Starbuck's shoulder Boomer saw the Commander and the Colonel awaiting their briefing. It would have to wait for later.

"Okay Starbuck." Boomer replied, but Starbuck had already turned away from him to meet the Commander and Colonel.

While the entire fleet, with its every military, social and bureaucratic detail, was the overall responsibility of Commander Adama, Tigh's major concern was more focused on their protection. Tigh's concern was his troops; his men and women, the first and last line of defense for the fleet. Many of the mundane and minute administrative issues fell to Tigh to handle and resolve. Tigh was adept at taking care of problems before they ever came to the notice of the Commander. However, there was one problem standing before him that had been next to impossible to resolve, Starbuck.

Starbuck was the niggling burr under his saddle. Starbuck was the pebble in his boot. Starbuck was the piece of sand in his eye.

But Starbuck was also the spice that made the blandest of soups savory. Starbuck was the ingredient that made the difference between hard tack and fresh baked cookies. Starbuck was that element that could turn bat guano into fireworks.

If Starbuck was not, well, Starbuck, Tigh would have eliminated the problem yahrens ago, transferred him off to be someone else's discipline nightmare. That's how he wound up with Starbuck in the first place, just a name amongst others on a transfer list. Tigh had checked the records of the first few on the list, but must have gotten distracted before checking Starbuck's. It was a mistake he never made again. It was only a few cycles before Starbuck was before him for some transgression, minor of course, but when Tigh pulled up Starbuck's record the list of "minor transgressions" went on and on, at least three screens worth. Tigh cursed, not at Starbuck, but at the other Colonel who had obviously transferred Starbuck due to his excessive "minor transgressions". Tigh had been duped and for all intents and purposes, stuck with someone else's discipline nightmare.

But Starbuck also served a purpose. Starbuck was his gauge and pressure valve for how to best manage his troops. Starbuck supplied diversions when needed. Starbuck could produce fun out of thin air. Starbuck appeared to be vitally important to the morale of the Battlestar, perhaps even of the whole fleet. The mood of the troops could be determined just by the angle of Starbuck's smile.

And today, he was not smiling. Today he was wound tight and looking haggard. Starbuck's normally non-military standard haircut was disheveled and dingy. His stance was at the same time rigid and defensive as well as casual and lax. He barely made eye contact, but when Tigh got a glimpse, he saw the normally keen blue eyes were dull gray and bloodshot. While the command station lights were not kind on anyone's complexion, Starbuck looked sickly green.

All gauges were in the red, all indications of trouble ahead. The only questions that remained were just how much trouble and how many it would affect. Was what Tigh saw before him an indication of the rest of his troops?

Tigh had learned yahrens ago, for his own benefit as well as Starbuck's, that handling Starbuck was much like handling a fire. Too much discipline and conformity was akin to cutting off the oxygen to the fire, it squelched the flames. Too little discipline and constraint was like adding too much fuel to the flames. They would flash and flare out of control leading to destruction and devastation. Somewhere in between was the environment in which Starbuck was at his optimum. When at his best, Starbuck was a mighty and powerful weapon. It was why Tigh had kept him among his troops. Starbuck could perform miracles and make it look commonplace, when he was at his optimum.

The problem lay in finding that middle ground, and in the harnessing of Starbuck's energy. It didn't help Tigh's situation that Starbuck was a favorite of Adama's. He often drew the Commander's concern and attention, perhaps because of his long standing friendship with Apollo, or his position as on-again off-again suitor for Athena. Or maybe it was that Starbuck in many ways resembled a young Adama, or the Adama that the Commander wished he could have been without the family ties and pressing responsibilities.

Whatever the reason, Adama counted Starbuck as one of his own, and Tigh felt influenced to go easier on him than many situations warranted, and this appeared to be one of those situations. The Commander seemed to be allowing, at least ignoring, Starbuck's complete lack of protocol. First Starbuck entered the bridge obviously arguing with his wingman. He then proceeded to provide a report of events that could neither be verified nor documented by either viper's instrumentation. To further cloud matters, even his wingman, Lt. Boomer, could neither confirm nor deny Starbuck's report of a Cylon presence. When questioned further, Starbuck became angry and agitated.

"I'm telling you there is something out there!"

Despite the fact that he was giving a report to the High Command Officers of the known fleet, not one "sir" had been uttered. All sense of protocol was absent from the Lieutenant's response, and under normal circumstances Tigh would have taken the moment to remind the lieutenant of just where he stood in the chain of command, just how far down that chain he was, as in turbowash cleaner, or agroship fertilizer spreader, or maybe even some task a bit lower if he could find it.

But as usual, the Commander stepped in on Starbuck's behalf. Tigh groaned internally. The Commander's attention sometimes seemed to only encourage Starbuck's lack of decorum.

"No one is denying that Starbuck. Your instincts are accurate more often than not. It's just that we would all feel better knowing exactly what you saw and what it meant. If it was just a lone raider, perhaps it was a long range scout and we have nothing to worry about. But if it was part of a larger force, or a Basestar close by, well that's a different matter entirely."

Starbuck had the good sense to look a bit ashamed at the facts the Commander presented to him. Tigh was reminded that the only person who Starbuck seemed to respect was the Commander, and that perhaps the Commander's influence at this moment could bring Starbuck back into line without Tigh having to waste his time and attention.

"Uh…that I don't know, sir." Starbuck replied.

"Well, then we should try to figure that out shouldn't we?" The Commander placed his hand on Starbuck's shoulder, and the attention seemed to calm Starbuck as the defensiveness left his stance.

"Yeah, that's what I would do. Uh, sir." Starbuck responded.

"Colonel Tigh,, set up another long range patrol to that sector. Perhaps Lieutenants Bojay and Sheba?" Adama looked from Starbuck to the Colonel.

The look spoke volumes. Tigh knew they would be talking later, alone, about a certain warrior's report. He also realized that the Commander was asking for an experienced pair to reassess the quadrant, a pair that was also fresh from a leave period. It let Tigh know that Adama was at least aware that there was a problem with the Lieutenant, and perhaps the troops as well.

The Commander turned back to the Lieutenant. "In the meantime, let's not rule out that maybe, quite possibly there is a problem with your scanners."

Starbuck nearly yelled, "There is nothing wrong with my scanners!"

Tigh was impressed with Adama's calm patience. He knew he himself would have been tempted to reach out and throttle the Lieutenant.

"Well Starbuck, yes there is. It didn't record the readings that you saw, now did it?"

The Lieutenant once again had the good sense to fall in line. "Well sir, you do have a point there."

"So," the Commander continued in a tone he might have taken with Boxey. "We should pull your viper for a full diagnostic scan. With your viper down, it makes sense to pull you from flight status."

"I don't need to be pulled from flight status." Starbuck said. At least, Tigh noticed, he didn't shout it.

The Commander looked to Tigh again, then back to Starbuck. Tigh cursed again inwardly. The Commander had so many other concerns. He did not need this one. And frankly, things ran better when Tigh managed the Troops. But, perhaps it was time to pay attention to the warning klaxons emanating from one disheveled and distressed warrior.

Colonel Tigh added, "It won't be for long. Get some rest, enjoy the time off."

This time Starbuck did shout, "I don't need to be pulled from the roster!" Starbuck took a step forward, placing himself right in the Commander's personal space. "Look, there is something out there! I saw it! We are in danger, and no one seems to get it!"

Tigh was fully prepared to step in, to dismiss the Lieutenant to his office for a full discussion about proper decorum and protocol, but he did not have the chance as Lieutenant Starbuck turned and stalked from the bridge.

Everyone was shocked by the Lieutenant's sudden departure. The Commander watched him go, waiting for the turbolift to close before turning to Lieutenant Boomer.

Lieutenant Boomer did not seem surprised in the least at Starbuck's temper tantrum. He barely flinched when Starbuck yelled. He merely stood his ground, waiting to be dismissed.

Commander Adama turned his attention to him and asked, "Is there something I'm not aware of Lieutenant?"

"Sir, I'm not sure what you mean." Lt. Boomer answered, but added nothing more.

The Commander looked to Tigh again and Tigh made a mental note to check with security to see if there was a party or pyramid night that had occurred recently, or something major that would have set Lieutenant Starbuck on edge. The Lieutenant had just come off a long range patrol, but if he didn't know better, he would say the Lieutenant had just come off of a hangover from a long night of drinking.

The Commander let Lt. Boomer's comment pass and the silence linger before he asked his next question.

"Do you believe there is something out there to find Lieutenant?"

Lt. Boomer looked the Commander square in the eye and gave the most ambiguous answer Tigh had heard in many yahrens.

"I believe that Starbuck believes there's something out there."

The commander merely nodded and dismissed the warrior before turning to Colonel Tigh.

"I believe we have a problem." Adama said to him.

Tigh nodded, knowing that the problem had a name. The real problem was if Adama would let Tigh solve the problem the way it should be. Solium leak checker, oh yes, that ranks a bit lower thanFertilizer Spreader.

Starbuck charged from the bridge with a mission. He had to prove what he saw. Yes, it had been but a fleeting glimpse of a raider, but it was there!

Of course no one believed him, not without proof. And he was going to get that proof. It rankled him to his core that the Commander and the Colonel would doubt what he had witnessed, but, well, the Commander did have a point that without instrumentation back up, it was hard to know what they were dealing with. Starbuck cursed himself for not thinking of that, and not thinking of the solution sooner. The scanner backup datalogs would hold the answers. They were hard to get too, but he'd taken a course at the academy in basic viper repair. He could get to them with a few tools.

Starbuck headed straight to the hanger bay, ignoring any who crossed his path. He swung by the maintenance locker and grabbed a toolbox. Back in the day, before the destruction, he remembered how he would have had to get permission and fill out requisitions just to get his hands on a screwdriver. He was just a dumb old pilot by the way, what the hades would he know about viper repair? But since the destruction, things were different. Undermanned, overworked, some procedures had been let go in the name of efficiency. It was just one of the many improvements that the destruction had brought to the Colonial Service, Starbuck mused to himself. Less stupid mindless pointless time consuming paperwork.

She was still there on the flight deck, not yet prepped and put away after his patrol. Looking at her, streaked and tarnished from her latest outing, Starbuck briefly thought about how many hours he had just logged in her. She was really close to a major overhaul and…and he'd better clean her out and make sure he hadn't left any incriminating evidence behind.

The next random thought that flitted through his brain was that he'd been awake for all those hours, and he didn't feel tired. His conscious reminded him that he should probably try to get some sleep or he'd be overdue for a major overhaul, but he wasn't tired. So he was going on 20 centaurs, no big deal. He could do 48 easy, and that's without help. This was more important than sleep. He had to get those datalogs, and while he was at it, he might as well see what was wrong with his scanner.

Starbuck climbed up and slid into his viper, pulling the toolbox with him. He decided that he'd like a little privacy, less mindless pointless questions as to what he was doing. Those mechanics had a very irritating habit of acting like the vipers belonged to them. So Starbuck hit the button to bring his canopy down. As usual it jerked and bobbed, not the smooth glide as Boomer's or Apollo's. It irritated him, and he grabbed at the edge of it yanking it down. He heard the hydraulics whine.

"Well, as long as I'm here, I might as well fix that too." Starbuck pulled out a motorized screwdriver, pulled the handle and heard it rev. "You will glide smoothly or else!" Starbuck attacked the screws to the canopy wielding his screwdriver like a weapon. The screws came out easily, dropping to the ground one by one, pinging and ricocheting across the metal deck. Starbuck looked down at the last one, watching it bounce once, twice, three times, four, then roll under his viper and out of sight. "Frak."


	3. Chapter 3

"YES!!!" Starbuck hollered in victory. His voice was muffled, as he was head down in his viper, his hair resting on the floor of his cockpit, his feet dangling out where his canopy used to be. It had taken eight centaurs, but he had finally gotten to his backup scanner logs. His control panel was hanging half off, wires trailing off everywhere. As he tried to right himself, he gave a deep sigh as he realized he was going to have to put all this back together. "Ahh what the hades. It was due for an overhaul anyway. Jenny won't mind, she'll take care of it for me." Starbuck crawled out from under the control panel and surveyed his handiwork. Every control panel had been pulled out, his canopy was tossed on the floor, and a few of the side panels were laying beside it. Screws littered the deck below.

"Oh frak. Jenny is going to kill me!" But he dismissed the thought quickly. He knew Jenny had a big crush on him, and a few well aimed smiles and he could get out of this one. At the worst he might have to buy her a drink or two. For now, he needed to get his back up logs to the lab. He needed to show the Commander that they were in danger!

Starbuck climbed down, stepped over the parts and pieces of his viper, and tried to take off running. One step and he nearly fell on his face. His legs were weak and his head dizzy from his prolonged inverted position. Somewhere in his head he heard a little voice that surprisingly sounded just like Apollo, "Maybe it's the lack of sleep."

He shook his head and answered, "Naw, this is nothing. Besides," he quickly checked his pocket to find a few more ampules just waiting for his use. Fingering the vials he remembered that he had one more task he should have seen to in his viper, disposing of the evidence.

He turned one eighty and scrambled back up into his viper. He plunged back in head first, rooting around in his hidey holes, which were now all in disarray.

"Starbuck?"

There it was again, Apollo's voice in his head. "Yeah, yeah, yeah, I'll get some sleep soon." Starbuck mumbled.

"STARBUCK!"

He bumped his head in his surprise. That was definitely not his imagination. "Apollo?" Starbuck called out hesitantly.

"What are you doing? For Sagan's sake, look at this mess!" Apollo chastised, stepping over various parts and panels.

Still buried upside down, deep in wires and parts, Starbuck answered, "I needed to pull out my backup data logs."

"Would you get out of there!"

"Frak, did I get them all?" Starbuck muttered under his breath as he found an empty vial that he slid down his sleeve. Lord I hope I got them all, he thought as he disentangled himself from his handiwork and sat upright.

Apollo shook his head in wonderment. Starbuck was as disheveled as his viper, including cigar butts in his hair and wires hanging off his insignia. Apollo sighed aloud.

"See, back up logs." Starbuck said holding up the part, about the size of his hand.

"So you had to dismantle your viper to get to it? Did you miss the lecture on basic Viper repair? I believe it's just held in by a few screws, not the 600 that I'm tripping on out here. And what in the Lord's of Kobols does your canopy have to do with back up logs?"

"It was jerky." Starbuck answered pathetically.

"Jerky?"

"Yeah, you know, kind of jerked down. Not a smooth motion."

"So you just took it off." Apollo said sarcastically, but Starbuck missed the tone.

"I needed to fix it."

"I thought you needed your back up logs to verify what you saw on long range patrol?"

"Yeah and I got them right here! This is going to prove what I was trying to tell everyone. I can't believe no one is taking me serious! So I've got the proof right here." Starbuck climbed out and dropped down to the deck, one boot slipping on a loose screw, and he had to reach out to his viper to catch himself.

"But for Sagan's sake Starbuck, did you have to dismantle a perfectly good viper to do it?" Apollo turned around in a circle surveying the clutter of panels and screws. "What did your maneuvering jets have to do with backup logs?"

"It's all good. I'm due for an overhaul, I just sped up the process. No biggie." Starbuck stepped over the mess, logs still in one hand as he tried to tuck in his tunic with the other.

"No biggie? All good? Starbuck, I went by the barracks. You haven't been there in centaurs." As Starbuck came closer to Apollo, Apollo's tone quickly changed from chastisement to concern. "When did you last sleep?"

"That's all you ever say to me! I hear your voice in my head, you know, this constant whine," Starbuck reached up and tapped his temple and shook his head to the side as if he was trying to shake water from his ear. "'When did you last sleep? Get some sleep. When did you last sleep? Get some sleep.'" Starbuck mocked Apollo in a sing song, repeating the phrases a few more times. Starbuck turned and headed across the hangar.

Apollo said his name a few times to get him to stop, but Starbuck kept up his mocking song as he strode for the lift. When Starbuck reached to punch the button, Apollo's shouted command finally registered.

"Lt. Starbuck, Halt!"

In a long ingrained response, Starbuck actually came to attention before he caught himself and swore. He spun on his friend, "WHAT?!"

Apollo took his time walking to his friend, trying to word just right what he wanted to say to him and how well it would be received. He wanted to say, "Look buddy, you've been working too hard. I'm worried about you. I care. I'm here to help. I'll watch your back while you sleep." He wanted to do something to soften Starbuck's glare, to change his eyes from the red and gray of an alert back to the vivid blue of a sunny day.

But what came out was, "You have cigar butts in your hair."

Starbuck ran his hand through his hair, but it caught on the debris and he began picking it out. He was still combing and picking out debris when the lift arrived. "Did I get it all?" Starbuck asked.

"Yes, you got it all." Apollo said, watching Starbuck enter the lift. Then he hastily added, "Mind if I come with you. You might need some help."

Starbuck half nodded as he punched in the level for the lab. He didn't make eye contact as he asked, "Do you believe me?"

Apollo held back the heavy sigh and instead took a deep patient breath. "Starbuck, your gut instincts have saved us all more than once for me to not listen to you, but…"

Starbuck's voice was dripping with hurt and indignation as he repeated the one word, "but."

Apollo reached out and placed a hand on Starbuck's shoulder, briefly amazed at how tense Starbuck felt. "But," he continued, "You could stand to improve how you get your point across. Maybe follow the chain of command, pay attention to protocols, regulations, use a sir or two."

"Yeah, yeah, I know." Starbuck muttered, his shoulders slumping a little.

"And Starbuck, get some sleep."

Suddenly Starbuck did feel very tired. He was aware of how heavy his head was, at least as heavy as his boots. His eyelids felt like blast doors he was trying to lift one handed. He thought wistfully about the extra juice he had in his pocket, but knew it wasn't an option. Apollo didn't approve. He was made of stuff that Starbuck could only find in vials and pills. Starbuck ran his hand through his hair making one last check, but even that took effort and felt like a chore.

"Right after I check my logs." Starbuck conceded. "I can't sleep if I know something's threatening us."

Apollo looked to Starbuck knowing the statement was all too true. Despite his unorthodox methods and out of control behavior, Starbuck was a true warrior. He always put the well being of the fleet before his own. He put his life on the line daily, taking on the missions that others wouldn't take, flying for hours, even days at a time. But how long could someone keep that up, Apollo mused. He took in Starbuck's deathly pale pallor and realized, about this long and not much longer.

"Okay, let's check your logs and then let the matter rest." Apollo replied.

Starbuck nodded his agreement, thought for a moment of the two lonely vials in his pocket and asked, "Hey Apollo, can I get a loan. I'm low on cubits."

Apollo had meant to sit down and talk with Starbuck, but Starbuck looked so worn out when they were done checking his back up logs that Apollo just told him to get some sleep and walked him to the barracks. Apollo knew what he really needed to do was take some time off and just, how did Starbuck phrase it, hang out with Starbuck. He had noticed his friend's agitation and recognized all the signs of a dissatisfied and bored Starbuck.

Apollo shuddered at the thought of what Starbuck had done the last time he was like this. He had poured gelatin in a tub and initiated a wrestling match. And the time before that, he had pulled a few of his buddy's uniform pants from their lockers and cut them off into Triad shorts. And before that there was this duct tape incident, something about duct taping rookies to the conduits on the ceiling of the corridor to the OC, and then before that…Apollo shook his head as he had lost track of the many antics of one bored Starbuck.

No wonder, Apollo mused, it had been easy for him to take over raising an energetic 6 yahren old Boxey. He'd been dealing with Starbuck all these years, whose behavior could be worse than an overly energetic kid.

At the lab as they had checked Starbuck's back up logs, Apollo took note again of Starbuck's pale complexion, his lackluster eyes. He looked too tired to even do his usual fidgeting with the usual gusto. Instead Starbuck tapped his foot like it was something he had to do, another duty, another job to get done.

Starbuck had nearly collapsed from his chair when the backup logs had shown nothing unusual. He had hung his head in his hands, shaking it back and forth, muttering, "It was there. I know it was."

Apollo had patted Starbuck on the back and reminded him that Sheba was checking out the same sector and would be back soon. If something was out there, Sheba would find it.

"Yeah, you're right." Starbuck had finally conceded before being coaxed off for some much needed rest.

Apollo had seen him to the door of the barracks before heading to the duty office to take care of some paperwork and await Sheba's return from patrol. The summons to the bridge had come as Apollo had pulled out the duty roster that had been Starbuck's job to fix, and saw the incoherent scribbling, the changes that didn't make sense. On next secton's roster several warriors were doing the impossible, pulling duty in two separate locations at the same time. Starbuck had obviously just copied previous rosters without consulting the current roster or checking pilots flight status.

Apollo had also received numerous messages from the flight deck inquiring as to what had happened to Starbuck's viper and that damage to vipers are to be reported through the proper channels. The final message from the Flight Deck Chief had been a directive addressed to all pilots and squadron commanders, copied to Colonel Tigh, stating simply and clearly that pilots were hence forth not authorized to perform repairs on any equipment located in the hangar. "If any pilot is found with so much as a screwdriver, they will be put on report and pulled from flight status," read the last line of the memo.

Apollo sighed and sat down to clean up after Starbuck once again. He made a note to make sure he scheduled some time on the roster for both he, Boomer and Starbuck to be off duty at the same time. He didn't know how he was going to wrangle it, but maybe he could get a furlough for all of them. Perhaps if he gave Cassie, Sheba and Dietra enough warning they could come along too. That's what Starbuck needed, a night out, maybe even a good drunk.

Apollo shook his head. Starbuck must have been getting to him for him to actually prescribe getting drunk in order to cure a problem. Or maybe it was a sign of how overworked Apollo felt too. What they all really needed was a day laying on a beach somewhere soaking up some sunshine. But that was not to be. Maybe when they found earth. That's what kept Apollo going, his faith, his belief that earth was out there somewhere, ready and waiting for them.

"And if the Lords are looking out for us, it will be covered with sunny beaches." Apollo sighed, and got to work on the roster.

**********

Apollo wasn't surprised when he was summoned to the bridge. Starbuck had pushed it one time too many recently. From the numerous messages from maintenance and engineering it was obvious that Starbuck had gone out of his way to annoy more people than usual. Now Apollo would have to have a talk with him, and it would probably be one that would have to go on the records.

What did surprise Apollo was that when he got to the bridge, Boomer was also there waiting, a similar summons in his hand. Apollo and Boomer only exchanged a knowing look and a nod. They had been in this position one time too many, having to reign Starbuck in seemed to have been permanently applied to their respective duty assignments.

Colonel Tigh was on the bridge and waiting for them. "Good, you got my message. We need to talk in my office." Colonel Tigh turned to head towards his small office located just off the bridge. Commander Adama was already there, seated behind the desk reading over a computer printout.

Before his father could say anything, Apollo interjected, "Let me guess, this isabout Starbuck."

Adama gestured to a couple of other chairs. "So, this will be a long talk." Apollo joked. The Colonel shot him a look, much like the kind he often shot at Starbuck.

Without any preamble Adama began. "Do you know Corporal Bacchus?"

"Yes. He's in Engineering, Viper maintenance and repairs. So this is about Starbuck's little overhaul isn't it? I got the same memos and directives. I'll talk with him. He'll clean up the mess, and he does know how to put it all back together. He's not on duty until tomorrow. He needed some sleep, but I'll see that he sets this right."

"This is not about screwdrivers Captain." Adama said trying to keep the conversation on a professional level, but he also realized that would not be easy when talking about Starbuck. Somehow Starbuck found a way to keep things, even conversations he was not present for, unprofessional. "This is about something more serious than tools left out and disassembled vipers. Corporal Bacchus had a pass for the Rising Star last night. Early in the evening he was found in one of the corridors in convulsions."

"Lords no! Do we have another virus in the fleet?" Apollo asked, alarmed by the thought of all the engineers and mechanics taking ill at once. It would cripple the fleet in ways that no one could ever imagine. Without the engineers there would be more problems than vipers needing repairs. There would be no running water, no sanitation, no lights, and possibly not even air to breathe.

"No, that is not the problem." Adama looked down as if collecting his thoughts, then braced himself for what he was going to have to finally face. "Corporal Bacchus was found to have a large quantity of methamphetamines in his blood stream. He also had over twenty vials of the same concoction on his person, as well as other illicit drugs, and a large sum of cubits."

"What?! How? How could he get his hands on that many stimulants?" Apollo asked in disbelief. The idea of a warrior using drugs was unfathomable to him. The job required one to constantly be alert and coherent. It was rare when a warrior even got drunk. Of course since the destruction there weren't too many opportunities, and rations were too tight to afford any one more than a drink or two. Of course before the destruction, well it did happen. Apollo thought back to the few times he had had to deal with the issue of personnel imbibing too heavily in anything, be it legal or illegal. It wasn't often, maybe twice, perhaps three times. Apollo always made it clear that such behavior in his squadron was not tolerated. It would earn the warrior a swift reassignment and in one case, an even swifter expulsion from service. But in hindsight, those cases had been fairly minor. Just an issue of someone who couldn't separate when it was time to work and time to play. This he realized was something different. "Selling it too? To who? Why?"

Colonel Tigh gave a nervous cough to clear his throat before broaching a topic that he knew was difficult for both Apollo and Adama. They had led a life of privilege, a life where they had care and support, if nothing else from each other. They had both begun their careers in the Colonial Service as Officers. From the moment of their induction they were held to a higher standard. What needed to be discussed and dealt with was as remote from their life experience as Earth seemed to be for the fleet.

But Tigh had seen this before, dealt with this before. While not pleasant, it was not new or even unique. Spend any amount of time with large masses of people and it will come up, especially amongst the lower ranks of the fleet, those who could not afford or qualify for an Academy assignment. Tigh had often wondered why that was since drugs and alcohol cost money, something that lower ranking personnel were always short on. The service wasn't known for making a man rich. Yet, he had dealt with it often enough to not be surprised. . Tigh had conducted more dishonorable discharge meetings than he cared to remember. While that was not the course of action he would have preferred with many that came before him, it was all that was at his disposal at the time. He had spent many a sleepless night wondering if perhaps those who faced addiction needed help, not to be tossed out into the civilian world with no hopes or future. For Tigh the service had changed his life. Perhaps without the support and the assigned family of the Colonial Service, Tigh would have found himself in a different position in life. One not so dissimilar from those found on the street begging for change to buy ambrosia. He was certainly headed in that direction before one of his teachers had suggested he go into the service. It had changed his life. It was his family. Tigh suspected many a time that that was also true for Starbuck and many others under his command. Without the service, where would they have gone?

Tigh shuddered, then forced his attention to the matter at hand. This time he vowed would be different. After losing so many, they could not afford to toss aside a single warrior. They would have to accept the responsibility to become the family that many had lost.

"It seems that after the destruction several warriors had requested stimulants from the Life Station, and our medical staff felt compelled to offer them readily. We have not put back the restrictions that existed on such medications before the crisis."

"What?!" Apollo's jaw hung open in shock. "Wait a centon Sir. Are you telling me we gave these stimulants to anyone who asked for them?"

"Yes Captain, it appears we did. In fact, we approached many and suggested they take such medications."

"But why?!"

Apollo was appalled, and perhaps more so by the sheepish and embarrassed looks on both Colonel Tigh and his own father's face. "Lords of Kobol, what were you thinking?" Apollo started to get to his feet as his sense of justice became engaged.

Boomer reached out a hand to keep Apollo sitting down as he asked, "Apollo, how many cups of java were you consuming in those days?"

"What does that have to do with this? Java is just java. It's harmless. What we are talking about here is dangerous. We're talking about drugs here!"

"And java is a drug Apollo. A legal one socially acceptable, but it affects the body as well, in much the same way as prescribed stimulants." Boomer gave Apollo a look, one that said to not be so quick to judge. "If I had to guess, you were taking in at least ten to twelve cups of java those first days, maybe more."

Boomer waited for an acknowledgement from Apollo, and didn't have to wait long as Apollo conceded the point by remaining in his seat. Before Apollo could say anything more, Boomer added, "You weren't the only one. We were working long hours and with the Cylons harassing us, no one was sleeping even when we weren't scrambling for an attack or on patrol. Some of us needed something to keep going, or else," Boomer let the last two words hang in the tense atmosphere before going on. "There was no alternative at the time."

Colonel Tigh hastened to lend support to Boomer's confession. "When properly prescribed and monitored, it can be kept under control and be reasonably safe for an individual for short amounts of time. Without such medication, well, many of our warriors may have collapsed under the strain and exhaustion."

"I can't believe this." Apollo said to himself, trying to understand what would make his command come to such a reckless decision. "So sirs, you have answered my question of where, and why. We handed it out with the daily vitamins at breakfast." Apollo was unable to hide his distaste of the situation. "But why would one of our warriors need to sell stimulants then if one can get them just by going to a Life Station?"

Adama chose to enter the conversation, "What Corporal Bacchus had in his system was not prescribed and nowhere close to what our medical staff has on hand. He had something much stronger, something to induce a euphoric state. The list of chemicals involved is frightening, including even vermin poison and embalming fluid. We can only assume that he had taken the prescribed medication from numerous warriors, mixed it all together, added these other chemicals, and came up with something much stronger. Something very potent, and very dangerous."

Apollo was still in disbelief. He could not fathom with all the death and destruction that they encountered daily why someone would endanger themselves on purpose. "Why?"

Colonel Tigh said, "Stimulants are addictive. One of the side effects is an induced state of euphoria when taken in larger doses. That is why we want to prescribe them, so we can monitor the individual and the amount they are taking. But as with all addictive drugs, a little more is needed each time to achieve the same results, especially when being taken over a long period of time. We can only assume that we have an addiction problem within the fleet."

"One that the fleet started, sirs," Apollo couldn't help but to point out.

Both Adama and Tigh sighed as if on cue. Adama answered, "Yes. One we will deal with in the same way it was begun, with the best interests of our warriors and the fleet leading us towards the best course of action."

"Uh huh." Apollo answered, not at all convinced.

"Regardless of your feelings on this matter Apollo, we have other issues associated with it that need our immediate attention." Adama said in his tone of authority. "It seems that Council Security were quite convincing with Corporal Bacchus that if he did not cooperate and share with them the names of those who were buying his wares that he would be prosecuted and perhaps confined to the Prison Barge." Adama slid the print out across the desk for Apollo to view. "Many of the names come from Blue and Red Squadron. Starbuck's name is on the list."

"No way, not Starbuck!" Apollo rose to his friend's defense.

Adama looked hard at Apollo. "I appreciate your loyalty son, and believe me, in the days ahead that will be needed, What I need to know right now is if we search these warrior's personal effects, what are we going to find?"

"Starbuck would never! Yes, he may drink a few too many drinks, and I think when he was much younger he may have experimented with plant vapors, but Starbuck wouldn't go for this. If he used anything, it would be something to relax him. He's just naturally wound tight. He wouldn't take anything to add to that." Apollo thought back to the early days in the academy. It was not uncommon for a random drug test, and Starbuck never failed, even after nights of partying out on the town. In fact, Apollo could barely recall nights when Starbuck would get falling down drunk. No, his friend preferred to keep to that safe middle ground with just enough drink to make him feel good. Starbuck was the one that always saw the drunker ones safely home.

"I wasn't asking just you son," Adama turned to Starbuck's other friend. "Boomer?"

Boomer closed his eyes for a brief moment, a moment that he wished could last longer, as in days longer, days in which he could take Starbuck aside and shake some sense into him. But he didn't have that kind of time. He had now to make the right decision. Well, at least I tried to warn him, Boomer thought to himself.

When he opened his eyes, he answered honestly. "You won't find anything in Starbuck's locker." Everyone in the room seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. Boomer hated to take that hope away from them. "Starbuck isn't stupid enough to store it in his locker. You'll find it on his person. I would say check his viper too, but it looks like he already has searched it himself."

"No, you're wrong!" Apollo did get to his feet this time. "I know Starbuck better than anyone. We roomed together at the Academy and have bunked together for years. He wouldn't do this."

"It's been a while since you've been in the barracks Apollo." Boomer stated factually. "And in those days before you were, believe me, he's often used something or other. Oh always in small amounts, or while on leave," Boomer hastily added. "Well, except on long patrols. He's not naturally wound tight. Some of that extra energy comes from 'extra curricular activities'."

"Substance abuse?" Colonel Tigh interjected.

Boomer winced. "Abuse is a strong word sir."

Tigh raised his eyebrows in inquiry, "But a fair one?"

Boomer shrugged his shoulders unwilling to commit, "At time he can go long periods without anything, and other times, like now," Boomer shrugged again.

Apollo was stunned speechless. As he looked to Boomer, now in the light of Starbuck's closest friend, trying to find the words. Boomer looked up at him apologetically. He had never wanted to shatter the image that Starbuck needed to portray to Apollo. Apollo made Starbuck try to be a better man, and who was Boomer to stand in the way of that? Boomer momentarily wondered if without Apollo for a friend, what would Starbuck be like? Would he have even made it through the Academy or instead washed out as many did?

Apollo sank back into his chair, dropped his head and shook it in dismay. Starbuck had gotten himself into the kind of trouble Apollo couldn't help with. It was trouble Apollo couldn't even envision. "How long Boomer? How much?"

"I wish I could tell you, but Starbuck's good at hiding it. He knows how to play his cards close to his chest. I can only tell when I notice he hasn't been sleeping."

Apollo looked back and reevaluated all those days and nights at the Academy, the nights of long study sessions and how Starbuck would still be fresh and alive the next day. "Why Boomer? Why does he need it?" Apollo looked up trying to understand the one person who he thought was as close to him as anyone could be. Someone he felt he knew as a brother. It felt like he had been betrayed.

"Do you know why things have eased up on the rest of us? It's not that we're running less patrols or that the missions are any less dangerous. Things are better because some have taken the brunt of it. Some have taken the extra duty, volunteered for the hazardous missions. They've helped to take the load off the rest of us."

"So are you trying to say he's been taking drugs for noble reasons?" Apollo was baffled by Boomer's reasoning.

"In a way. I'm not justifying what he's doing. I know half the reason why he's doing it is that Starbuck likes his vices. He likes the rush he gets from it, and he's not been one to think too far ahead." Boomer hesitated, remembering for a moment that the high command of the fleet was also in the room. "Starbuck is trying to do it all, and he's not the only one. I believe there was a list of people."

Adama nodded. "Lt. Giles, Lt. Bendis, Lt. Phanes, Lt. Rhea, and Lt. Klio to name a few. Starbuck is not alone. I wanted us to deal with him first because I think it answers some questions about his behavior recently."

Boomer nodded. "I tried to talk to him on patrol. He seemed to be listening. Said he was going to shake it and set himself straight."

Apollo still couldn't believe what he was hearing. "So you're telling me Boomer, my best friend had been using drugs and my other best friend knew it and did nothing. Using drugs on duty!"

Boomer sighed. He knew he had this coming to him, and he knew he deserved it. "I'm not saying what I did was right Apollo, but things have been different since the destruction." He laughed bitterly at his own choice of words. "We've all lost someone. We've all gone through hades. It affects everyone differently. Starbuck thinks he has it made since he didn't lose anyone, and that's not true. He's been in denial, about a lot of things."

"Who did he lose?" Apollo asked.

"Us. We've been so lost in our own troubles and grief. Then you were sealed, and Serina died, you've been consoling Boxey and dealing with your own duties and responsibilities. He lost us, don't you see, we are all he has."

"He's right son, and you can't let him down now." Adama added. "He's going to need his friends right now. Friends that will accept him without judgment."

"I don't think I can do that." Apollo said truthfully.

"Wait a minute. Lt. Bacchus, was he on duty yesterday? Kind of a big guy, reddish hair?" Boomer suddenly remembered back to the moment on the flight deck, just before patrol, when Starbuck looked like he was about to get into a fight with a flight tech.

"Yes." Adama said.

"We need to find Starbuck. I think he may have bought some of what Bacchus was selling." Boomer shuddered to think if he was right. "Starbuck may have taken the same concoction."

Starbuck had intended to get some sleep. He was exhausted. His leg and back muscles were stiff and sore like he'd been playing triad for the last eight hours instead of just sitting and repairing his viper. He had flopped down on his bunk with a sigh knowing he had a good sixteen centaurs before he had to be on duty. He briefly thought about his conversation with Boomer and decided that maybe Boomer was right, it was time to clean out the system and lay off the stuff for a while. The new stuff from Bacchus had been different from what he was used to and Starbuck wasn't so sure it was worth the cost. Sure it had an initial boost that was more powerful, but it wore off faster and harder than the other stuff. Starbuck had had to use two of the older and smaller doses while working on his viper to kind of even things out.

Plus there was the fact that he was broke and now owed Bacchus, and Apollo, and Jolly and, well he'd lost track of how many loans he'd needed to keep himself energized. He grumbled to himself taking off his boots and flight jacket that he'd probably be reminded pretty soon who else he owed as they came to collect.

He meant to remove the rest of his clothes, but he was too tired and just fell back into his bunk. He dozed hard at first, enjoying his soft pillow and the comfort of his mattress. But he was awoken after only a few centons by an itch here and there that he just couldn't seem to reach. He must still have had debris in his hair as his scalped felt like things were crawling in his hair. He tried to ignore it and go back to sleep, but his pillow was hard and no amount of punching could shift the lumps. As he tossed he could feel the lack of give in his bunk and realized it was not nearly as soft as what he needed.

Starbuck made an effort to ignore his discomfort and to drift back to sleep. He dozed off again only to be awoken as his leg muscles kept twitching and jerking him out of sleep. He wondered how long he'd been wearing his uniform as it felt stiff and crusty. He sat up and yanked it over his head tossing it to the floor, then flopped back down. He screwed his eyes shut tight and forced his mind to go blank and his body to relax.

After about fifteen centons Starbuck gave up. Sleep was not going to be visiting him anytime soon and he knew that willing it never worked. Too much tossing and turn just turned your bunk into an enemy to be fought. Just best to surrender to it and do something else until sleep decided the war was over.

Starbuck sat up on his bunk and wriggled around trying to get to all the places that itched. He decided a turbowash would probably do him a lot of good. He spent a lot of time under the warm water, willing it into the cracks and crevices where the creepy crawlies were trying to hide. He absentmindedly noticed that his wrists were scabbed up and thought that maybe that was the source of the itching. He gave his hair a thorough soaping three times to make sure he'd gotten all the debris out of it.

After the wash, Starbuck still wasn't sure if he could sleep, so he dressed in a clean uniform. It was while he was brushing his teeth that he remembered that he needed to fix the duty roster and he had a few other administrative duties that should be finished or Apollo would have his astrum in a sling from kicking it. As he brushed his hair he was overcome again with how tired he was, but he knew he couldn't sleep now until he fixed the roster. Through the haze of fatigue Starbuck remembered that he had two more doses left.

"Just one more." He said aloud to his reflection. "That will just leave one for an emergency and then I won't be tempted by the other one." Starbuck reasoned out loud to himself. He dug into the pocket of his flight jacket palming the injector and a dose, then headed into a stall. He took off his jacket and hung it on the door, then rolled up his sleeve to get to a decent vein.

He'd forgotten just how powerful the rush was from Bacchus's new mix. As it hit him his head swam and he swayed knocking his head on the partition of the small stall. He shook off the pain and shook his head again to clear his vision. He felt his heart rise up in his chest, and plummet into his stomach. When it came back up, it was more than his heart that came up. He spun around and vomited. As he expelled nothing but water and bile and then began dry heaving, some detached part of himself wondered when he had last eaten.

"Must have been a while, you should eat more often." The voice floated around in his head and it still sounded like Apollo for some weird reason.

When the spasms in his stomach finally subsided he was pleased to find the shooting laser neon rainbows had also ceased. He had a hard time straightening up to a standing position as the muscles in his stomach ached. He felt like he was ripping his abs apart.

"Frak me." Starbuck muttered, wiping the back of his sleeve across his mouth. He looked down at his chest and could physically see the beating of his heart. He placed a hand over it to keep it in its proper place. He leaned back against the door, closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths.

"There you go." He soothed himself as his heart slowed down to a more normal pace. "Okay, so maybe this wasn't such a good idea." He turned and took a few hesitant steps out of the stall to the sink where he tried to brush his teeth. His shaking hands had a hard time getting the cap off the tube.

It was while he was brushing the bile from his teeth that he heard the voices in the barracks. One of them was Jolly's and he didn't sound pleased.

"I mean it! You can't search pilot's personal belongings without the Colonel's orders! You don't have jurisdiction here!"

Starbuck put down the toothbrush and eased himself to the doorway. He peered around the corner into the bunkroom, and sure enough there was Council Security and one of them was his arch nemesis Reese. Starbuck whipped his head back into the turboroom. "Frak me!" He hissed under his breath.

"We have jurisdiction throughout the whole fleet Lieutenant. Now step aside. We have several lockers to check for contraband." Reese ordered.

"Not without the Colonel's approval. Even their mamas don't get to see their folded socks without the Colonel's approval!"

Starbuck took a deep breath and did what he did best, thought fast. He came around the corner into the bunkroom and said, "Hey Jolly, what's going on?"

"Hey Starbuck. These gentlemen," Jolly sneered the word sarcastically, "claim they need to check lockers for contraband. But like I told them, they don't have the right paperwork."

"And I told you, we do." Reese moved to push Jolly aside, but Jolly puffed up his chest and spread his arms and legs blocking his path.

"You can check mine." Starbuck said sauntering over to his locker, which hung open unable to close from the tantrum Starbuck had delivered to it the day before. "I think my undies are clean enough for your inspection. Or were you looking to lap up on some dirty ones?"

"Very funny Starbuck, very funny." Reese did however move forward and look inside the locker as Starbuck held the door open for him like a game show hostess.

"Satisfied?" Starbuck asked as Reese moved away.

"No, not exactly. Empty it for me."

"You've got to be kidding me! Starbuck, don't do it. You don't have to." Jolly said, heading for the com panel near the front of the barracks. Jolly keyed the mic and told the commander of the intrusion.

"Sure, whatever you say. I've got nothing to hide here." Starbuck took both arms and swept out all the contents of his locker to the floor. Cans of polish, socks, underwear and toiletries went flying all over the floor.

"Good enough?" Starbuck smirked.

Reese's partner took Reese by the arm pulling him aside. "Look, uh, it turns out their right. We have to get the Colonel's approval. He's waiting for us on the bridge."

Reese nodded to his partner then turned back to Starbuck. "Good enough.."

Jolly headed back towards Starbuck, picking up the contents of Starbuck's locker as he did. "Imagine the nerve!"

"Do you know what they were look for?" Starbuck asked.

"No. Just what they said, contraband. Jerks!"

Jolly said tossing the items back into the locker. When his back was turned, Starbuck headed for the exit. His mind was racing. There was only one reason for Security to be tossing lockers, and Starbuck was walking around with the evidence racing through his system. He needed to find somewhere to lay low at least until his latest dose had ebbed away a little. He wondered briefly if he'd be able to get off the Galactica, catch a shuttle and lose himself amongst the multitude on one of the other ships. But without a furlough pass, he wasn't sure they'd sell him a ticket. Plus there was the little fact that he was flat broke. No he'd have to get resourceful right here on the Galactica.

"Besides, it's not like they're looking for just me, don't get too paranoid Bucko." Starbuck said to himself as he waited for the lift that would take him deep into the battlestar.


End file.
